In the Dark Hollow
by gorgonmaid
Summary: Quite by chance, Morgana has captured Merlin in the forest. While she considers how to make the best use out of him, he considers how to get out alive! A one-shot.


**In the Dark Hollow**

Merlin came-to immediately. The warm, fetid water snapped him into consciousness in a flash. His legs felt weak and the weight of his body, confusingly suspended, rolled forward over his toes. His shoulders ached, but for the life of him, he could not bring his arms down. The left side of his chest, over his heart, stung like fire. He shook his head as much to shake off the water as the groggy feeling that lay like a pall over his mind.

"Good morning," he heard a voice say as he finally found his feet and pushed himself up, relieving the strain on his shoulders. When he could finally focus his eyes, he saw a dark figure before him. A mass raven hair framed a pale face set with familiar green eyes. A filthy black lace gown with at least a foot of mud caked on the bottom of it was cinched in at the waist revealing a far thinner figure on his captor than he had ever seen on her before. Poverty and exile had diminished her frame over the past year - her frame, but not her likely anger.

"Is it?" he finally managed to mutter. He took quick stock of his surroundings. The hut was dim and dusty, but other than the two of them, it was empty. There was an eerie quiet over the room and the world outside. It was as if all living things, save them, had learned to avoid this place, this dark hollow in the woods. His arms were securely fastened in strong chains to a thick rope above his head. The unfortunate circumstances of his situation became sharply and painfully apparent.

"Oh, don't be like that," she retorted. "We've got a lot of catching up to do. After all, I haven't seen you since you condemned my sister to a slow and painful death, thwarted my plans to take over Camelot and forced me to live in a _hovel_." Although there was a mocking tone in her voice, beneath it was a layer of deep pain and genuine rage.

"Couldn't do me a favour, could you, and let Arthur know? He still thinks of me as an underachiever, but I am quite proud of those accomplishments. I can die happy," Merlin chided. Like her, though, his words did not match his feelings. He was scared – truly scared. He was at her mercy and his greatest weapon – the only one over which he truly had mastery – was the one he could not wield…not in her presence…not unless there was no other way out.

"Oh, you're not going to die. I'm not going to make it that easy," she replied sharply, smiled cruelly and backed away from him.

"Well, you're not getting anything out of me. I can promise you that," Merlin growled as Morgana turned and moved across the room. She did not look back at him, but he could tell that she was amused by his words. He had known her so well for so many years and even though she could still surprise him with her ruthlessness and villainy – he knew her thoughts about him well enough. It was clear that she did not feel he was any sort of threat, and he knew his bravado would seem comical in her eyes. He hoped a time would not come that he would need to show her how big a threat he really was. She turned once she reached the cluttered table in the far corner of the room. The morning sun, though bright, could not breech the dimness of the tiny, earthy hut.

"I am not trying to get anything out of you, Merlin. You were not my target. Believe me I've bigger fish to fry than the likes of you," Morgana said as she lit several candles around the table, perhaps in an attempt to drive out the seemingly perpetual shadows.

She moved slowly around the table gathering all manner of dried herbs and roots. She added the ingredients to a mortar and added a dash of water. Merlin looked with envy on the dish as he had no water himself for some time, save that thrown over his head minutes earlier.

"I had intended to capture your master and rid this land of him once and for all. But fate had a different plan for me, I guess. So I'll have to make do."

"Morgana, why are you doing this?" Merlin finally asked.

"You know why!" she barked at him, violently grinding the herbs and roots with a marble pestle.

"Arthur is not Uther," Merlin reminded her.

"In all the ways that count for me and my kind, he is," she explained. Morgana sighed deeply and laid the pestle down. "You can't understand, Merlin. You're just a servant. Your life means nothing now and will mean nothing when you die. But I am the rightful heir to Camelo-"

"-Based on what?" Merlin interjected. He was parched and getting surly. He was also growing tired of hearing her excuses for her vanity and her unbridled ambition.

"Pardon me?"

"Based upon _what_ are you the rightful heir to Camelot?"

"I am the _daughter_ of Uther Pendragon."

"So? Arthur is his son – his _first_ born as well – mind you. _He_ is the _rightful_ heir."

"For too long have the Pendragon _men_ have ruled this land. They have murdered hundreds, thousands even, in the name of _peace_. They have hounded the Druids, a peaceful and spiritual people, nearly to extinction. And they caused the death of my sister – the only one who ever truly loved me!"

Merlin had little sympathy for Morgause, but the Druids – well, they were his kin. However, he felt it unwise to reveal his affinity for them in front of his captor. "Uther loved you in his own… _twisted_ way. And Arthur always loved you. He protected you and tried to make you happy."

Morgana scoffed at Merlin's last statement and snapped, "Well, only his _death_ will make me happy now."

"It's not too late, Morgana. Arthur would probably forgive you and take you back if you asked him to," he said, his throat dry and his voice weak. He was lying, of course, and they both knew it, but desperate times...

Morgana made her way back across the cluttered room towards him with a damp cloth in her hand. Her touch was not as gentle as a wounded person deserved, Merlin thought as she pressed a dampened cloth over his chest wound. The scent of a healing potion wafted upward and he felt it begin to work immediately.

"You know there is one thing I don't understand Merlin," she said as she wiped the cloth over the wound near his heart. "You're Arthur's servant, nothing more, yet time and again you've proven yourself willing to lay down your life for him."

"What are you doing?" he croaked as she paused for a response to her inquiry. He didn't need the answer because he knew the smells well enough to recognize her intent, but he wanted to keep her talking. She was too clever to reveal her plan, he knew, but she might let enough slip out for him to work it out. He was clever, too, after all.

"Have you never seen Gaius clean a wound before?" she snapped, resuming her task, her touch becoming even more aggressive.

"Alright, I know _what_ you're doing, what I don't know is _why_," he snapped back. He couldn't imagine that she was wasting her time and her skills healing him just to turn around and kill him. But, he reminded himself, she was half mad and might do just that. She'd done madder things than that over the last few years. She grabbed his face tightly with her fingers, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"I believe I asked you a question first. Why are you so loyal to Arthur?" She looked deeply into his eyes as if she expected to see the answer there. He could see that her puzzlement was genuine and he feared she would not be swayed from her line of inquiry, so he lowered his eyes. After a long moment, she released him and went back to her work.

"I don't expect you to understand, Morgana. You have no sense of _duty_, no sense of _loyalty_," Merlin finally answered, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor beneath her feet.

"You're wrong. Don't think I don't understand loyalty just because I've got no one left to be loyal _to_."

Morgana spoke over his wound, a spell of the old religion, with her hand pressed over his heart, her eyes burned briefly with shimmering gold. As she did so, Merlin's head fell back in reaction to the incantation as it sunk beneath his skin. He could feel his flesh mending under her powers almost immediately. Merlin had not expected her to be so adept. Her powers had certainly expanded and improved since her time in Camelot. He feared that she might be a force to be reckoned with even if he _were_ to use his powers. Morgana grasped his face in her hands again and looked into his eyes for a moment, then pushed him slowly away from her. He felt suddenly spent as his body worked with the magic to heal his wounds. He dangled from his wrists for a few minutes, unable to muster the energy to stand.

"I know _a lot_ about loyalty. I was loyal to Uther for years, and to Arthur," Morgana said bitterly. She suddenly stopped on her way across the room and turned her head toward a hole in the thatched roof through which daylight struggled to pierce the gloom. Memory had clearly overtaken her and she was recalling some past day when perhaps things were no so bleak and her despair was not so profound. It didn't last long, but when she turned to look at him again, it was clear to him that she had changed tack in her approach to him.

"_You_ were loyal to me once, too, don't you remember? Couldn't you choose to be again?" she purred, her voice soft, yet chiding. In the dull light, she looked for one shocking moment like the Morgana he had once admired and trusted.

"I don't think so," he replied, and laughed bitterly, turning away so that she could not see his confusion. He was not yet sure where the conversation was leading.

"Hmmm, I think if you were honest with yourself, perhaps there is some part of you that still fancies me as you once did. Even in this state."

Merlin understood her well enough to know that since her direct approach had failed, she was driven to attempt something baser. He also knew how desperate she must be to drag up such ancient history. "What? _Fancied_ you? If I didn't know it before, I certainly know now that you are _delusional_, Morgana!" he cried, deliberately swinging his face away from hers again.

"Deny it if you like, Merlin, but I am a woman who has been desired by many men over the years. And I have seen in your eyes, more than once, something there."

"Revulsion, pity, _disgust_ – could you be mistaking one of those for desire?" he barked.

"Hmmm…no. I don't think so Merlin. Do you deny that you once found me beautiful?"

He paused before responding. His own memories flashed quickly back over the years and truthfully, Merlin knew she was not entirely mistaken in her premise. But, he reasoned to himself, who wouldn't have found her desirable during his early days in Camelot? She was kind and generous. She cared for her people, her king and for Arthur.

"You were a _princess_ in those days, Morgana… and a totally different person." He had not thought about Morgana in any way other than what kind of a threat she posed to Arthur and Camelot for some years. However, once she was a beautiful woman, inside and out. "You were beautiful, Morgana, there may be no denying that…but more importantly, you were _good _then."

"I'm still _good_ Merlin. And as queen of Camelot, I might be _beautiful _again one day, as well," she whispered moving closer to him again and swinging him around to face her. Her eyes were a bright, clear green, even in the dimness that had fallen around them. Her hair was a wild mass of untamed, ebony curls, spilling over her narrow shoulders, and her lips were the pale pink of spring blossoms. Years ago, if he were being honest with himself, he would have given almost anything for an intimate moment such as this with Morgana.

"Killing innocent people isn't _good_, Morgana," he finally responded quietly, his voice cracking slightly as she stared deeply into his eyes. She paused for a long moment, her face inches from his, her eyes searching his for any fragment of possibility in his eyes. Around the edges of her pale green eyes a golden ring flickered briefly. But Merlin remained steadfast, his eyes betraying nothing but fear – and exhaustion. Whatever feelings he might once have had for her were buried deep beneath that fear.

"No. It isn't. I agree. I tried convincing Uther and Arthur of that," she sneered after seeing that he would not change his allegiances of his own will.

"I cannot defend Uther, Morgana, he did some terrible things as king. But Arthur-"

"-Has done nothing different. He has not lifted the ban on magic and he continues to hunt those who use it. Never mind Merlin. It is not your concern…_yet_…"

As the medicine and the spell sunk deeper beneath his skin, Merlin felt sleepy and in spite of efforts to stay awake, he dozed off, his body falling limp again.

Some hours later, Merlin awoke, and watched Morgana from beneath heavily-lidded eyes. Her spell had done its work and his chest wound was healed. She glanced at him briefly, indicating that she knew he was awake, and then continued with her task. She held a disc of pewter in her hand and spoke aloud an incantation before she cast the disc into a fire. Suddenly from the flames rose a terrifying sight – a many-headed snake hissed, its heads swiveling from side to side between him and Morgana

"I take it you've never met a fomorroh before? He's a little grumpy," she explained as the beast hissed its many tongues at Merlin again. "He's not used to being out in the light. Oh, my friend," she said in a soothing and gentle voice, "I've called you from your depths for a very good reason." She moved her hands toward it, a small blade held in one, the other empty. She gently reached out to the beast and then removed one of its heads. The snake hissed, but to Merlin's horror, another snake head grew from the stump of the last one.

"Fomorroh are creatures of dark magic. Even if you cut off their heads, you cannot kill them. Another will just grow in its place. In the days of the old religion they were revered by the high priestesses because they allowed them to control people's minds," she explained and approached him slowly.

She took joy, glee even, in demonstrating her affinity for the old religion. Merlin wondered if she were trying to impress him. "The fomorroh will suck the life out of you and everything that makes you Merlin will be gone. And in its place will be just one thought. One thought that will grow until it has consumed you completely."

Morgana moved around him and he knew it would not be long before he would have no choice but to do magic to save himself. Still, he wanted to hear the plot in its entirety before he acted. "One thought that will be your life's work. You will not be able to rest until it is done. And that one thought is simple. You must kill Arthur Pendragon!" she shouted and grasped him finally around the waist at the same time pressing the fomorroh to the back of his neck.

Merlin bucked and opened his mouth to cast a spell to free himself, but the agonizing burning on the back of his neck made it impossible to speak or even to think clearly. He felt himself falling, his knees buckled and his weight dropped, pulling his shoulders nearly out of their sockets.

Merlin stayed in a state of semi-consciousness for what seemed like days, but was more likely hours. He hung by his wrists, the toes of his boots tracing wide circles in the dust beneath him. He could hear Morgana moving around him and could hear other voices coming and going in the hut. He was trying hard to focus on escaping and freeing himself at first, but as the hours past, those thoughts were forced from his mind to be replaced by far darker thoughts.

In the end, the only reasonable choice, he knew, was to kill Arthur Pendragon and free the kingdom. And he would relish the task.


End file.
